


The 5 Times Molly Saved Mycroft and the 1 Time She Didn't

by Wetislandinthenorthatlantic



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 5 Times, Awesome Molly Hooper, F/M, Fluff, Mycroft Being Mycroft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:33:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26125036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wetislandinthenorthatlantic/pseuds/Wetislandinthenorthatlantic
Summary: This was a request from HotRodRuthie from YEARS ago! Sorry it took me so long. I had a writers block on this fic due to the wrong ending. Recently I tossed the original ending idea out and it all fell into place!Huge thanks to Obotligtnyfiken! You always make it better! :)Stuart in Chapter 6 is from The Scandal in Belgravia. He is the guy with Mycroft in Buckingham Palace.I don't own these characters.Enjoy!
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Molly Hooper
Comments: 27
Kudos: 87





	1. Shopping

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hotrodruthie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hotrodruthie/gifts).



> This was a request from HotRodRuthie from YEARS ago! Sorry it took me so long. I had a writers block on this fic due to the wrong ending. Recently I tossed the original ending idea out and it all fell into place! 
> 
> Huge thanks to Obotligtnyfiken! You always make it better! :)
> 
> Stuart in Chapter 6 is from The Scandal in Belgravia. He is the guy with Mycroft in Buckingham Palace.
> 
> I don't own these characters. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Although the Saturday sun was shining, it held little warmth and the force of the spring wind whipping down Oxford Street took Molly by surprise when she exited the Tube station. 

Shoving her hands deeper into the pockets of her lightweight jacket Molly wished she had ignored the fact it was April and worn her wool coat instead. At least she had remembered to put on a scarf, albeit a thin one. 

Thoughts of treating herself to a lovely new cashmere scarf under the guise of needing more warmth to make it home after buying her sister’s birthday present began to bubble into her mind. With a sigh, she pushed those thoughts away as she dodged hordes of slow-moving tourists and frustrated Londoners. 

Selfridges came into view, and Molly’s pace quickened. She was well and truly frozen now. Visions of a new scarf had vanished, replaced by a large cup of tea to thaw her out once her sister’s present had been found and purchased.  
As she pulled open the large glass door, Molly mapped out her route in her head; three escalators up to the contemporary women's area, take a left and head to the activewear section. With any luck, she should have her sister’s present sorted and be sitting in a coffee shop within the hour.  
Molly had only taken two steps of her planned journey when she saw the tall somber figure of Mycroft Holmes sticking out like a sore thumb in the fragrance area. Of course, they knew each other, but she had never seen the man without either Sherlock or Anthea.

His gaze was erratic taking in the whole shop but bouncing around as if looking for a needle in a haystack. The look of utter despair on his face left no doubt on his feelings about his morning’s visit to Oxford Street.

The idea to duck behind the nearest sales girl, turn her face to the wall and keep walking evaporated once she saw the white-knuckle grip on his umbrella handle.

Before she could stop herself, Molly began to slowly walk towards Sherlock’s older brother. Her hands were up and open like she was approaching a frightened animal.

“Hi, Mycroft.”

Startled by hearing his name Mycroft spun around to face her. The look of confusion on his face was replaced by recognition in two blinks of an eye.

“Oh. Dr Hooper, hello. How nice to see you.”

“Are you okay?”

“Ah— well— is it that obvious?” asked Mycroft sheepishly.

“Yes, it is,” nodded Molly gently.

“There are a whole plethora of things I should be doing instead of standing here in this shrine to consumerism. I detest shopping.”

“I know. Me too. Faster I get my sister’s birthday present the faster I can get out of here.” Molly had begun to move towards the escalator. “So— ah— good luck with your shopping. I’ll leave you to it. Nice to see—”

“I am in need of a gift and have no idea where to begin,” blurted out Mycroft causing Molly’s retreat to stop in its tracks.

“Oh. Umm. Would you like some help?”

Molly instantly regretted her inherent niceness. This was Mycroft Holmes. He didn’t need help with anything. In fact, he was quite probably going to laugh at her right in the middle of this store.

“Yes. Please.” Mycroft was almost pleading.

For a moment, Molly could only stare at the very needy British Government. Then she took a deep breath and plastered a smile on her face as she made a new plan: Sort Mycroft out, then her sister’s pressie. Revised coffee shop ETA: hour and a half. 

“Okay.” Molly took a deep breath. “Who is the gift for?”

“Anthea,” came the quick response. Molly was relieved. At least the answer hadn’t required her to sign the National Secrets Act.

“What is the occasion?”

“I need to apologise.” Mycroft’s eyes dipped slightly. It was clear, whatever he had done was pretty bad.

“Okay. Flowers— you know the trendy hand tied ones?”

Mycroft shook his head. “It requires more than a bouquet.”

“Chocolates?”

Mycroft shook his head again.

“Regrettably still not enough.”

“Wow. Really? Worse than flowers or chocolate?”

“Afraid so,” sighed Mycroft. “There was a line— and I crossed it.”

Taking a long look at Mycroft, Molly tried to imagine what he could possibly have done to wound Anthea so much so neither flowers nor chocolate would fix it. Suddenly it hit her.

“Ah,” Molly said with a knowing gleam in her eye. “In that case, you will need the big guns. Lingerie is on—”

All the colour drained from Mycroft’s face as he settled eyes filled with horror on Molly.

“Heaven’s sake Dr Hooper. She is my personal assistant. It wasn’t THAT sort of line.”

“All right— sorry,” Molly held up her hands in defeat. “This process will be a lot more efficient if you tell me what you did.”

Mycroft took a deep breath and fiddled with his umbrella instead of answering.

“Come on— tell me. I’m a doctor who deals with dead people and your sociopath brother’s weird requests every day. I’m pretty sure you can’t surprise me.”

Clearing his throat Mycroft took a deep breath, “Recently I returned from an overseas trip and— as I was suffering from some intestinal troubles— my doctor requested a sample—” Mycroft looked at Molly hoping she would fill in the blanks.

“Tell me you did not have your PA deliver your stool sample.”

“Grievously I did.” Mycroft’s head dropped in shame.

“Oh, Mycroft!” Molly scolded. “Well. There is nothing in this store that can fix that.”

Sighing with defeat Mycroft briefly glanced at Molly before he shook his head.

“Apologies for delaying you. I shall let you be on your way. I’m going to my club. Hopefully, before the day ends, inspiration will strike. Good day Dr Hooper,” Mycroft began making his way towards the nearest exit.

“Wait!” Molly shouted after Mycroft, causing him to turn around and come back towards her. “I have an idea. Let me get my sisters present sorted then we’ll move on to Anthea.”

//

“Are you sure this will work?” Sitting in a scruffy armchair in a trendy coffee shop, Mycroft was scrolling through the web page of London’s top day spa on Molly’s phone. A grimace had settled on his face as he reviewed the package offers. “It sounds abysmal.”

“Trust me. She will love this.”

Taking a deep breath and another sip of lovely warm milky tea from the largest mug she had ever seen Molly shrugged her shoulders and smiled.  
“I don’t know how much mental damage you actually caused, but I can assure you, it will be hard to hold a grudge after a trip to a luxury spa. I’m guessing after 90 minutes of hot rock treatment it will all seem like a bad dream.”

Moments later Mycroft had entered his card details and looked visibly relieved when the confirmation email with the voucher attached arrived. 

“I certainly hope you are correct.” Finishing his double espresso in one gulp, Mycroft stood up. “I shall courier the voucher to her house first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Let me know how it goes!” Molly sat back with a sigh and a smile on her face watching Mycroft leave the coffee shop and climb into the back of his car.

//

When Molly arrived home on Monday evening, there was a beautiful bouquet of hand-tied flowers waiting on her kitchen counter. Her name was written on a cream envelope placed against the vase.

A smile settled on her face as she admired the flowers and slowly slipped the monogrammed card out of the envelope.

“Molly, Thank you for saving me from an extended stay in the dog house. Your gift advice was spot on. All has been forgiven. Kind regards, MH”


	2. Birthday Party

After arranging a small mountain of crustless jam sandwiches on a platter, Molly plastered a smile on her face before she turned around. 

Late yesterday a leaky roof had caused the church hall to cancel John’s booking for the party. And with a forecast for more rain today making a switch to the local park was too risky. That left only one option; nine 2-year olds along with their mums, as well as Sherlock, Greg, Mycroft, Mrs Hudson and Molly, were apologetically squashed into John’s flat.

Standing in the corner, drinking Ribena from a tiny paper Pippa Pig cup, the elder Holmes brother looked in agony. He grimaced when a toddler came too close and quickly brushed off all efforts from any mummy to speak to him. 

Molly saw Mycroft’s jaw clench as she bent down with the platter of jam sandwiches handing them out to the squirming little people sitting on the blanket in the middle of the sitting room. Woe was about to befall the first unsteady one to stumble past him, reaching out to clutch his bespoke trousers with sticky hands.

After depositing the empty tray in the kitchen, Molly pulled out her phone and held it up to her ear, while urgently heading towards Mycroft. The adults in the room looked towards her with concern.

“Yes, give me his vitals?” she said loud enough for those near her to hear.

Her look turned grave.

“I’ll come as soon as I can.”

Molly turned to Mycroft, “Do you have your car here?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Do you mind giving me a lift? I’m on call, and it’s urgent.” Molly waggled the phone in her right hand for emphasis.

“Of course.” There was a relief in his voice as Mycroft replied.

Apologies were tossed to Sherlock and John over their shoulders as the pair raced towards the door. 

//

“Straight to Barts?” asked Mycroft as he pulled his car out into traffic.

“I need to go home first.”

Mycroft took his job of chauffeur very seriously, aggressively driving through the streets of London as fast as the traffic would allow.

The journey took half the time it would have taken had Molly been driving. Pulling into a parking spot outside her flat Mycroft asked, “Shall I keep the car running?”

“No. I think you should come in with me.”

Frowning but silent Mycroft turned the key to shut off the car. Molly could feel him waiting patiently behind her as she fumbled for her keys before opening her front door.

Crossing the threshold, Molly slipped her coat off and hung it on the hook by the door.

“Exactly what is this emergency you are attending to Dr Hooper?”

“If you had stayed at that party for another five minutes you would have told at least three children Santa doesn’t exist after they came too close to you with jammy hands. Tea?” Grinning Molly toed off her shoes and padded into the kitchen, leaving a shocked Mycroft frozen in her hallway.

“Did we just skip out of my niece’s second birthday party under false pretenses?” Mycroft called after Molly as he hung up his coat next to Molly’s.

“Yes, we did.”

After a few minutes, Molly appeared in her sitting room with tea in china cups and a plate of biscuits on a tray.

“Your god-daughter.”

“Yep,” replied Molly, now curled up on the sofa.

“You are a devious and particularly observant woman Molly Hooper. It was the little gluten free one I found particularly annoying,” sighed Mycroft contentedly while loosening his tie and undoing the neck button. Taking a sip of tea, he settled back into the sofa.

The pair were enjoying the silence of a sitting room devoid of anyone under the age of 30 when Mycroft’s phone rang. 

Pulling it out of his breast pocket Mycroft glanced at the screen and grimaced before putting it up to his ear.

“Sherlock? Yes— yes. Molly has reached her destination—” Glancing to the other side of the couch Molly flashed him a mischievous grin before she took a sip of tea. 

“No, I believe it will be quite some time. No, thank you. Saving me a piece of cake won’t be necessary—”

Reaching over to the plate of biscuits, Mycroft picked up two custard creams.

“I shall stop by later this week to see Rosamound when life is less hectic. Goodbye, Sherlock.”

After slipping his phone back into his pocket, Mycroft slowly ate one of the biscuits. He then looked over at Molly and raised his cup to her.

“You have saved me, or at least my trousers from certain peril Molly Hooper. And for that, I thank you.”


	3. Theatre

Standing in the day returns line of the hottest musical to hit the West End in decades Molly counted the number of people in front of her. Seventeen. It was on the edge of whether she would get a seat or not.

Molly pulled a paperback book out of her bag and started to read. She had nowhere else to be, and if she didn’t get in for the matinee, then she would be in the front of the queue for the evening’s performance.

Hearing her name being called drew Molly’s attention out of her book. Mrs Holmes was walking towards her with her husband and Mycroft close behind.

“Molly, dear! What are you doing here?” Molly found herself engulfed in one of Mrs Holmes infamous hugs. She loved them, all warm and motherly. A smile crossed Molly’s face as she watched Mycroft roll his eyes at this gross public display of affection.

“Hi, Mrs Holmes. I've been trying for months to get a ticket, so I figured why not spend my day off trying for a day return. If not for this performance then tonight.” Molly wiggled her paperback indicating she was ready for the wait.

“Hello Molly,” Mycroft forced a smile then turned back to his mother. “Mummy don’t dilly-dally. We will be late.”

“All right Mikie, all right. Well, good luck, dear. If it's half as good as everyone is saying, the wait will be worth it.” Mycroft resumed shepherding his parents through the crowd into the theatre.

Taking a deep breath, Molly let a smile settle on her face. Even after all of the years knowing the Holmes family, she could not for the life of her figure out how those two lovely parents ended up with Sherlock and Mycroft for sons.

The five minute bell rang, setting off excited butterflies in Molly’s stomach. Slowly the line began to move forward.

Molly was looking at her watch and counting the number of people who had gone in when a member of the theatre staff approached her.

“Dr Hooper?”

“Yes.”

“If you would like to follow me.”

Molly’s heart thumped in her chest as she followed the theatre staff member through the nearly empty lobby, up the stairs and down a side corridor.

“Box D, just at the end. Enjoy the show.” The young man smiled at her before rushing off to deal with his next urgent task.

Opening the door to Box D Molly found an empty seat with a program on it between Mrs Holmes and Mycroft.

Slipping into her seat eagerly, words of thanks tumbled from her mouth.

“You are very welcome, my dear. The box is meant for four. It was all Mycroft’s idea.”

Glancing over at Mycroft Molly thought she detected just a hit of embarrassed blush on his cheek. It was hard to tell-- he was intently studying his phone.

“Thank you Mycroft, it was very sweet of you to think of me.”

Molly watched the colour of Mycroft’s cheeks deepen slightly.

“It was no trouble,” he muttered under his breath.

The house lights went down, and the play started.

//

Sigur was dispatched for ice creams during the interval. Although Mycroft had insisted he didn’t want one when Molly handed him her half eaten pot of chocolate, there was no resistance.

Molly and Mrs Holmes shared a glance when the pair realised he didn’t even bother to wipe off the odd little plastic spoon before he started eating. When Mycroft moved to pull out his phone, Molly glared at him and shook her head. He slid his phone back into his pocket and continued participating in the conversation. Now it was Molly’s turn to blush when Mrs Holmes gave her a knowing smile.

“The reviews were right, this is amazing, but I’m a bit worried about the second half. I heard it’s a tear-jerker.”

Reaching into his pocket, Mycroft took out his nearly folded white cotton hankie and laid it on his knee.

“Just in case,” he said, looking at Molly.

//

Molly did need Mycroft’s hankie to dry her tears and at one point Mycroft, his eyes never leaving the stage even put his arm around her, briefly.

The house lights came up, and again the conversation turned to the spectacular performance they had all just witnessed.

“Molly, would you care to join us for an early supper?” It took Molly a moment to answer. She was so caught off guard by the fact it was Mycroft who had asked the question.

She glanced over at Mycroft’s parents to see if there was hesitation. Of course, she found none.

“Sure, I’d love to. As long as it’s no bother.”

//

Mycroft walked Molly to her front door.

“Thank you again, Mycroft- for everything. I had such a wonderful day.”

“As did I Molly.” He glanced back at his parents, waiting in his car. “Thank you for saving me from an afternoon and evening alone with my parents. Although I’m not looking forward to the Stasi level interrogation I’m about to get from my mother.”

Standing on her tip-toes, Molly gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

“That should stun her into silence for at least half the journey. Good night Mycroft.”

With a chuckle, Mycroft turned around and walked slowly back to his car.


	4. Wounded

London was still covered by night's dark blanket when the frantic knock on her door woke Molly from a deep sleep. Tentatively opening her door she found Mycroft clutching his left arm, his right fingers covered in blood. His eyes could not hide the fact the pain was almost more than he could bear and about to overwhelm him.

"I'm sorry-- I don't deal well with the sight of blood--" Mycroft was panting. His words were forced out through gritted teeth. "Especially when it is my own."

In an instant, Molly slipped into doctor mode. She led Mycroft to a chair at her kitchen table, before quickly retrieving her reading lamp and substantial medical kit— the one she kept well stocked for Sherlock’s emergencies- from her office. After thoroughly washing her hands and putting on a set of gloves, she sat down next to Mycroft and gently put his wounded arm on the table to be examined.

Clenching his jaw, Mycroft gave a curt nod as Molly slowly slipped off his jacket and proceeded to cut through the sleeve of his expensive dress shirt. After dropping the bloody shirt arm into the open rubbish sack, her suspensions were confirmed: a bullet hole.

“You’ve actually been quite lucky,” Molly announced after a bit of prodding. All bones missed and no tendons completely severed. Despite the local anaesthetic, a low groan filled her kitchen as Molly dug her tweezers deep into Mycroft’s shoulder. It took three tries to get purchase on the slippery shard of metal. The bullet made a chink when she dropped it into a glass before holding it up for Mycroft to see. 

Another 15 minutes passed before Molly was packing away her medical kit.

“The hole sewed up nicely, but you’ll still end up with a small scar. Your arm will be sore for a few weeks, but keep moving it so there won’t be any long term damage.” 

Mycroft drew his right arm across his forehead, wiping the sweat off his face. His breathing was still a bit ragged, but his distress was now gone.

"Thank you. I will text Anthea to let her know to collect me so you can go back to bed."

“Mycroft, you have been shot! Just sit. I don't mind. You need to—”

The obstinate politician rolled his eyes at Molly while reaching for his phone. After sending a text had pushed himself, up to a wobbling stand and headed for the door.

Molly saw the faint coming. Moving swiftly, she slipped her arm around Mycroft’s waist, grabbing his uninjured arm to try and keep him upright for the short walk to the couch. The protest at him being handled was half-hearted at best. Arriving at the couch, Molly managed to twist him around at the last minute ensuring he landed on his good arm as his eyes closed on impact.

Kneeling next to the couch, Molly gently stroked his face, her fingers coming to rest on Mycroft’s neck to take his pulse.

"Relax. Let the painkillers do their job."

Mycroft’s eyes slowly opened, and his gaze flicked between Molly’s eyes and lips. 

“Mycroft now is not the time-- you’re hurt,” she laughed.

He was paying no attention to Molly’s protests as Mycroft pulled her slowly towards his waiting lips.

The kiss was soft and gentle. When it was over, Mycroft let out a deep sigh and his eyes closed. Light snoring started almost immediately. 

Sitting back on her heels, Molly pulled her phone out and sent a text to Anthea.

“He’s safe and fast asleep. Unless it’s urgent, give him a couple of hours before he is collected.”

She received a thumbs up emoji in response.

Molly pulled the crocheted blanket off the back of her sofa and covered Mycroft before heading back to her bedroom.

//

A few hours later, after being woken up by her alarm Molly found her sofa empty, the blanket having been neatly replaced in its usual position.

While staring at the sofa, thinking about what had happened a few hours earlier, Molly’s phone rang.  _ Was the bubbling in her belly relief or excitement? _ wondered Molly as she answered. 

“Hi. I hope you are ringing me from home, not work.”

“Yes, doctor.” Molly could hear a TV set on somewhere in the background.

“Good. You do need to take it easy today.”

“I am on my way back to bed now. I thought I should ring— thank you for saving my life.”

“Mycroft, you were shot in the arm. Stop being so dramatic. You weren’t dying.” The words were tinged with laughter.

“Perhaps what happened last night felt more serious than it was.”

Molly unconsciously stroked her lips as she wondered if Mycroft remembered the kiss.

“Molly, will you join me for dinner tonight?”

A flutter of excitement filled Molly as she replied, “I’d love to.”


	5. G20

London had an ethereal glow about it as Mycroft’s car travelled through the capital. A small frown settled on Molly’s face as she smoothed down the skirt of her cocktail dress for the umpteenth time.

“Are you sure I look okay?”

Mycroft, pulled from his thoughts, let out a sigh.

“You are with me. No one will pass comment on how you look.”

The words stung and caused Molly’s cheeks to burn as she swallowed nervously.

A small frown came from Mycroft as his hand slowly ventured across the car and his fingers laced with Molly’s.

“Apologies. I am not good at these sorts of discussions. You look lovely this evening.”

“I know. It’s just— you seem upset before the evening has even started. Can you at least tell me where we are going?”

Mycroft paused for a few moments looking out the window of the moving car before turning his attention back to Molly.

“We are going to a G20 reception. Normally this would cause no concern but since the Brexit talks have broken down things have not been running as smoothly as I would like. I fear there are meetings going on behind our backs that put the UK in a precarious position.”

Molly gave Mycroft’s hand a little comforting squeeze.

“I am hoping someone is indiscreet, allowing me to pick up a whiff of these clandestine meetings. We need to regain our footing at the negotiating table.”

//

Molly was amazed at how normal the party was— and how easy it was to talk to the diplomats. After a rousing discussion about Tiger King with the ambassador to Indonesia, Molly excused herself to go to the ladies room.

It was while washing her hands that it happened.

Also in the loo were two women taking a break from the party. Clearly good friends, the pair were chatting away about their recent holiday with their husbands in Mexico. The conversation was in Swedish, and they completely ignored Molly as she reapplied her lipstick three times.

With a flutter of excitement, Molly returned to the party and went in search of Mycroft. She found him in an animated discussion with the German Chancellor. After an agonising 10 minutes of listening to them debate the finer points of travelling business class in Lufthansa vs British Airways Molly was finally able to interrupt.

“There is a live band in the other room. Come dance with me?” Molly held out her hand while Mycroft gave the German Chancellor a horrified look.

“Please?” Molly waggled her hand again, and the German Chancellor stifled a giggle as Mycroft rolled his eyes and allowed himself to be dragged away.

“You are an excellent dancer,” said Molly, moments after entering the dance floor. Mycroft had swept her up into the waltz effortlessly.

“I shall send your compliments to my mother,” muttered Mycroft through gritted teeth. His uncomfortableness was clear.

Molly pulled Mycroft to her abruptly and whispered up at him.

“Hold me closer, and I need to tell you what I just overheard. I think I found the secret meeting you have been looking for.”

Ignoring the shocked looks from many in the room, Mycroft slowed and pulled Molly close into him and dipped his head making his ear more accessible.

After Molly had recounted the overhead discussion, Mycroft looked at her and asked, “What is your Swedish fluency level?”

“Native. My granny is Swedish, and every summer was spent in her summerhouse. I still visit a couple weeks a year and speak to her on the phone weekly. When I ignored the snide comment they made about me drawing the short straw and being your date for the evening they kept talking because they thought I couldn’t understand them.”

Mycroft manoeuvred them back into the dance floor and came alongside another couple. He smiled and made a comment about the weather in Mexico. And three dances later the same couple appeared next to them with the gentleman making a comment about the weather in Milan, Reims and Brussels.

“If you will excuse me, Molly, there is someone I need to have a word with.” His shoulders were squared and his jaw was set as Mycroft led them off the dance floor. Molly cheered silently as she watched him weave his way through the crowd.

//

Looking at her watch, Molly was surprised to find it was nearing midnight when she went in search of Mycroft. She found him on a balcony staring out over the London cityscape.

Without saying anything, she took up position next to him, also looking out over the twinkling city.

“I had been dreading this gathering for weeks, and it turned out to be better than I could have ever hoped — thanks to you.” Mycroft turned to face Molly.

“Once again, you have saved me, this time from certain humiliation.”

Molly felt a warm glow fill her chest as a smile settled on her face.

“The party is wrapping up. I think they want us to go now.”

“Pity” Mycroft stared at Molly with a flicker of intent in his eyes. “Will you come back to my house with me?”

Molly looked at him with confusion, “I’ve told you everything that happened in the loo. Do you really need me to tell you again tonight?”

A small smile settled on Mycroft’s face as he shook his head.

“Then, why?”

“For the usual reason, a man asks a beautiful woman to spend the rest of the evening with him. I’m not ready for this night to end.”

Tentatively Mycroft reached out, his fingers sliding sensuously over Molly’s bare arm. This simple act sent a surge of electricity through her causing Molly to gasp and shiver. 

“Really?”

“Yes.” The smile on Mycroft’s face became hopeful. 

“Yes, please.”

A strong gust of wind brought up goosebumps on Molly’s arms, and Mycroft instantly shrugged off his jacket and wrapped it around her before leading her to his waiting car.


	6. Stag Do

“Molly, please. You can save me from this utter insanity.” Mycroft was hovering behind her as Molly stood in the bathroom and applied her mascara.

“I could, but I am not going to.”

“Why? Lord knows what is going to happen to me tonight.”

Molly looked at Mycroft’s reflection in the mirror. 

“Stop overreacting. It’s your stag do, and it will be fine.”

“A stag do organised by my sociopath brother-- who-- and I shouldn’t need to remind you-- detests me. I can think of many things that could and will go wrong.” Mycroft gave Molly the full Ice Man stare into the mirror.

“John, Greg, Stuart and five of your SAS and MI6 friends are going. Nine rational men against Sherlock. The odds are slightly in your favour.”

“Only slightly,” grumbled Mycroft under his breath. “What if he has organised strippers? You know how much I detest those sorts of things.”

“It’s Sherlock. There will be no strippers. Worst case you’ll be drugged, flown to some remote part of Eastern Europe, divested of most of your clothes and have to make your way home in time for our wedding in 72 hours.”

Mycroft snorted. “If he thinks that would even remotely be challenging, he is wrong.”

Giving her hair a final brush, Molly gave Mycroft a reassuring smile. 

“That’s the spirit. I’m sure you will be absolutely fine. I’ve gotta go. My sisters are outside waiting for me.” Molly stood on her tip-toes to plant a kiss on Mycroft’s lips. She then used her thumb to wipe off a bit of left behind lipstick. 

“Try to have fun. I won’t wait up.”

//

Molly gazed at herself in the mirror and tried to keep her fragile emotions under control and not burst into tears again. There was no question, her makeup was perfect, and for once in her life, her hair looked amazing. The only thing missing from her perfect wedding day was the groom.

The morning after his stag do, finding Mycroft’s side of the bed still empty an icy fear had gripped her heart. Something was not right. 

A CCTV traffic camera on the A40 showed the executive coach Sherlock had hired for the stag do turning into Northolt Air Force base at 21:34 that evening. After pulling some favours, Anthea had found out an aircraft with all members of the party aboard had taken off at 21:56 and returned 9.5 hours later— empty. Complete radio silence from those on board for the last three days. 

// 

Forty-five minutes ago, Molly had sent her semi-hysterical sisters away to help Sigur distract Mrs Holmes. The elderly couple were waiting in the conservatory and just as livid at their sons as she was.

There were only 14 minutes left before the first notes of the wedding march were due to fill the village church, and she was to start her walk down the aisle. 

She began to shake as her imagination got the better of her and visions of desperate Mycroft thousands of miles away filled her head. Her hands clenched as she thought about wringing Sherlock’s neck for ruining her perfect day.

Unable to sit any longer, Molly rose and crossed to the window. The weather was perfect, sunny, but not too hot. She could see the top of the church tower between the trees. It was the ideal day to get married.

“How long do I wait before I call it all off?”

“He will be here.” Anthea moved to stand next to Molly but didn’t look up from her phone.

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because he’s Mycroft Holmes.”

Molly looked over at Anthea with a critical squint.

“And I can hear a white hawk helicopter heading this way.” Anthea’s perfectly manicured finger pointed off into the still empty sky to the west.

//

Twelve minutes later, in front of the tiny village church, Molly was helped out of the vintage Rolls Royce by Sigur. It was impossible to hide her astonishment at finding most of the crew from the stag do waiting for her looking perfectly composed in their wedding suits.

“You look, gorgeous Molls.” Greg was beaming at her as he came in for a kiss.

“No.” She held up a hand to stop him inches from her face. “Please tell me he is in there and in one piece.”

Greg glanced nervously to John whose gaze dropped to the ground as he shifted on his feet.

Sinking dread filled her and made it hard to breathe as Molly waited for Greg to reply.

“About that. Yea, the pair of them are in there and— well— I promise we’ll get it sorted as soon as you get hitched.”

Before Molly could get any of her many questions answered Stuart ushered the remaining stragglers inside. Sigur held out his arm to Molly as the first bars of the wedding march filled the air. 

The stress of the past few days began to ebb away as Molly crossed the church’s threshold. She could see Mycroft waiting for her at the end of the aisle. He was standing at attention with eyes facing front, in stark contrast to a fidgeting Sherlock an arm’s length away from him. 

A smile ruffled her mouth as Molly imagined the events of the past few days. By the body language, even from a distance, it was obvious one of the brother’s famous strops had been put on pause for the wedding but was set to resume in a few hours time. 

Glancing to her left Molly saw Greg and John again, now with nervous smiles unsuccessfully covering their distress. Worry creased Molly’s brow, perhaps this wasn’t just a normal tiff. But Mycroft was here. And so was Sherlock. What could possibly be that wrong?

When she reached three pews from the front Molly’s mouth fell open in shock --  _ Oh my god!  _

Standing between Mycroft and Sherlock was Irene, very much ‘not dead’, and handcuffed to them both.

As Molly took up her place next to Mycroft Irene lent forward and whispered,

“Congratulations Molly you look so beautiful. I just love weddings. They always make me cry.” She had a huge smile on her face and tears were already forming in the corners of her eyes.

“Oh for heaven’s sake, already? The service hasn’t even started,” muttered Sherlock under his breath as he pulled (with the non-handcuffed hand) a folded hankie out of his pocket and handed it to Irene who mouthed a silent thank you.

Mycroft remained silent, eyes forward, ignoring the pair next to him.

“Is anyone going to explain to me what is going on?” asked Molly.

“No” came in unison from the trio. 

The fingers of Mycroft’s free hand intertwined with Molly’s as he looked down at her. She could see anxiety and nervousness swirling behind his eyes. 

“Okay,” Molly whispered as her heart swelled once again with happiness tinged with relief. “At least you made it on time.”

Mycroft gave Molly’s hand a squeeze before clearing his throat to get the vicars attention. 

“Please begin the ceremony.” 

The vicar looked to Molly as she bit her lip to stifle a grin before nodding her head. 

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today …”

//

“I hold you personally responsible. You could have saved me from the bedlam orchestrated by my brother and this current agony.” 

Mycroft was sitting on the edge of the bed rubbing his right wrist which was still red-raw from the handcuff hours after it had been removed. His morning coat and tie were draped over the armchair in the corner.

Molly moved to stand in front of Mycroft then turned around. After a few moments of fumbling by Mycroft the unzipped dress fell to the floor with a rustle. With a glance over her shoulder, Molly bent over and gathered it up in her arms then added it to the armchair.

With great effort Mycroft untied his shoes before gingerly repositioning himself against the pillows, his long legs stretched out in front of him. He let out a deep sigh and visibly relaxed.

“I’m guessing tonight is going to be fairly tame considering how much you were wincing during the photos.”

Molly pulled the waiting robe off the end of the bed and slipped it on before crawling onto the bed. Mycroft slowly raised his arm and Molly slipped under it, her head lightly resting on his chest. 

“So exactly how did you, Sherlock and Irene come to be handcuffed together?” 

“I believe the official line for all stag dos is ‘what goes on tour stays on tour’,” muttered Mycroft with his eyes closed and a smirk on his lips. 

“Seriously? Ten men disappear for three days. You arrive home in a military helicopter sporting a dozen bruises to get married while handcuffed to a woman we all thought was dead and your brother. Greg and Stuart were walking around with permanent grins all afternoon and John kept apologising every time he saw me. But still, you say nothing.” 

Mycroft remained silent with a smile on his lips. 

“You could always leave out the dodgy parts,” Molly added exasperated.

Mycroft didn’t move. He was so still Molly wasn’t actually sure he was still awake.

“Honestly. Keeping secrets from your wife already. What am I going to do with you?” Molly snorted and rolled her eyes. Gingerly Mycroft tuned and pulled Molly closer as his lips found hers. 

While the kiss intensified Molly gasped as spirals of ecstasy were soon thudding through her. 

“Where did you learn how to do that,” begged Molly breathlessly.

“I’m not entirely sure, but my best guess is 17 km inside the Slovakian border,” Mycroft replied with a wicked gleam in his eye.


End file.
